


Stability

by jewishushanka



Category: South Park
Genre: Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Schizophrenia, Self-Harm, Split Personalities, mute character, psych ward au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewishushanka/pseuds/jewishushanka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories revolving around different characters on the same floor who eventually cross paths for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Why the hell am I uploading yet another work while I still have multiple unfinished? Who knows. This was something I wrote a few months back, and just remembered I had done so. This more than likely will not be updating much, probably whenever I get hit with random inspiration. But still, let me know if the idea is all right? Feedback is appreciated.:3

**Kenny: Diagnosis Not Stated.**

He wore green Adidas sandals which were what I focused all of my attention on; like the way they wrapped around his feet and how his toes slightly curled over the top. I noticed on his big toe he had thicker, darkened hair than the others, and the nails were jagged, rough, to the point I imagined running my fingertips over them.

I could sense he was getting anxious by the way his leg jolted up and down and how his fingers kept gripping the fabric of his khaki pants, kneading the fabric, bunching it together to leave ruffled marks throughout. 

I switched my attention from his feet to his lips, and in my head I said:

_ He’ll get the wrong idea. Look back at the sandals.  _

But it was too late. He stood up from the metal chair he sat in, and I leaned further back in my metal chair, and I let out a huge, long sigh as I watched him walk back to his room, paying attention to how he dragged his feet when he walked, motioned his arms back and forth beside him and kept his head down, focusing on the ugly, beige tile of the hospital. 

This put me back into the same position I was in just hours ago – Alone with nobody to talk to. Even though the two of us never quite exchanged words, there has a mental connection we shared… or at least I thought we shared. 

I laughed to myself at using the word mental. Yeah, we were mental all right. That’s why we were here in the first place. 

When he was back in his room, I decided to glance around at my surroundings and I took in the fact that most everyone else in the ward were sitting in the “Lobby” where all eyes were on the TV plastered to the wall. One guy – I never caught his name – held the remote in hand. His index finger grazed over the several buttons, but never quite pressed enough force onto one of them to do anything. Beside him was a girl with bright red hair. It obviously looked dyed, and I rolled my eyes at the sight of her. From where I sat, I could see the mole she had just under her left eye. I’m sure she would claim it was beauty mark. I’d still call it a mole. 

I cracked my knuckles, then my neck and then my back. And afterwards, I stood up from the awful metal chair my butt stuck to. Once on my feet, I couldn’t help but stretch my arms, reaching them upwards towards the ceiling which was musty and old and kind of reminded me of my late grandmother. My feet were moving now, they were walking forward in the same direction as the “Lobby” and when I reached it, I sat myself down on a comfier chair then before next to a girl with crazy, naturally curled hair and bright blues eyes just like my own. Her eyes left the TV, sideways glanced at me, and they smiled. Her mouth didn’t but her eyes did, and I liked that about her. 

I thought to myself: 

_ Her hair is processed. Not the curls but the colour.  _

I was staring at the light blonde roots on her scalp. They looked greasy and thin, and not at all attractive but the rest of her hair -- like the honey brown shade of her curls and the strands underneath that were closer to a chestnut – I admired. So I smiled her way, with my mouth instead of my eyes, and I held out a hand to offer a shake which she refused… so I frowned. 

It was a Friday afternoon, nothing was on the television on a Friday afternoon. I don’t know why I bothered to sit in the “Lobby” to watch crap on TV or sit next to a girl with processed hair who refused to shake my hand. 

I was new to everything around here. I was new to the patients and the staff, and the room I was placed into. I was new to the schedule, the food and the medication system. I was even new to the restroom, which I learned smelled like disinfectant and medical supplies, and both genders shared the same one. I was new and apparently no one around here liked _New_. 

I thought about getting up to leave the “Lobby”, maybe go back to my room which I shared with a boy the same age as me named Kyle. But then I thought about how comfortable this chair was and how pretty the girl next to me was, and I placed a hand on her thigh closest to me in an ever-so-sly motion then I squeezed the skin of fat in hand, only to result in the fake brunette to let out a soft, yet wet moan and sink further in her seat. 

Her hand touched the top of my hand. It slightly took grasp but didn’t force mine away, instead she shifted my hand further down her thigh towards the crotch of her pants, and my lips smiled as large as they could. The area I was now touching, radiated with so much heat, I wanted to sweat. But I didn’t, I let my index and middle finger curl so I was cupping her clothed crotch and her moaning got wetter – more erratic. 

I was surprised no one heard her and that no one turned their attention from the crappy sitcom on the television to glance over to the two of us then look away in disgust. I took my index finger, guiding it up her pants to the waistline just to feel the rough fabric because she was wearing jeans and I missed the touch of jeans. Then I stuck my hand into her pants – noticed she wasn’t wearing any panties – and inserted my finger between her lips which became engulfed in moist, wet substance. But I loved it and so she did. 

But then someone screamed. They screamed in jargon which was more like their own language, then all eyes were on the two of us. My hand left her pants, I wiped her pre-cum on my sweatpants and someone grabbed my shoulders. They pulled me from my super comfortable chair to guide me outside of the “Lobby”, into the hallway of several rooms patients lived in. I had a smile on my face. They didn’t. 

“Inappropriate behavior, Mr. McCormick.” 

I laughed, or at least I think I laughed until I shoved them into the wall behind them. They were a nurse. His name was Kevin. I _loathed_ people named Kevin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wendy: Split Personalities.**

I think I’ve seen him before, actually I _know_ I’ve seen him before. Outside laying on a bench wearing shoes so battered I could see through the soles. He dressed like an old man -- khaki pants, sandals, and a soft, soft button-up -- but he wasn’t.

He was young, and for some reason, I liked him. I don’t know his name, I don’t know anyone’s name in the ward. Except for my own -- and even then, I wasn’t fully sure if I was right.

I sat in a room with one other person: The Old/Young man. His eyes kept jumping around the room and his leg jolted up and down. I paid attention to his structure, like how he sat on his chair with his rear on the edge and both of his hands gripped his knees, ruffling the fabric of his khakis, and the bend at his knees or elbows, and the curve of his back. This boy was strange. I wanted to know his name… but had no idea how to ask.

_You do it blunty. Straight out. Ask his name._

_What if he can’t speak?_

_Everyone can speak._

_Not everyone has the same motor skills._

_That’s a lie._

_You’re dumb._

It’s true. Wendell is dumb. He’s arrogant, selfish, and dumb. I don’t like him. He tries to talk to me like _I’m_ the dumb one. I’m not dumb, I have common sense.

But I still took Wendell’s advice and I dropped my pack of cigarettes in hand onto the table between the Old/Young man and I. The carton smacked on the fake wood, and the he jumped in his seat. I smiled at him, then opened my mouth to ask:

“What’s your name?”

He didn’t say anything, instead he stared at me with bright, large eyes the colour of slate. I didn’t know slate coloured eyes existed. I want slate eyes.

As he continued to stare at me, I grew uncomfortable so I started up again:

“My name is Gwendolyn. No. _Wendy_. My name is Wendy.”

I think I got a smile out of him, but he still didn’t answer my question. Instead, he started moving his hands around, forming various symbols. I don’t understand. _I don’t understand._

“I don’t understand.”

_He’s mute._

_You told me everyone could speak._

_Everyone_ can _speak._

_He’s not speaking._

_He’s speaking with his hands._

I grabbed my pack of cigarettes on the table then pulled out a single smoke to stick between my lips and just gnaw on the filter. I forgot my lighter to properly smoke it. I _always_ forget my lighter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Craig: Schizophrenia//Self-harm.**

He was attractive, _Christ_ , was he attractive. He was someone I wanted in my bed with me, not to sleep with but to lay under the covers with his hand curled around my fluffed strands of hair. I bet he smells good, like whatever brand of cologne he came into the ward wearing. I didn’t have any cologne because I’ve been in this place for twenty-eight days now, all I owned were the same change of clothes and a peruvian chullo my grandmother knit me when I was sixteen. I thought this was all I needed, I didn’t expect to be in here as long as I have been.

The blonde I continued to stare at, sat outside his room in the hallway, knees curled up to his chest and his head leaned against the back wall. I wanted to walk out of the balcony I stood in, and go to sit right beside him, but we’ve never exchanged words before, so that may be awkward. So instead I darted my attention from the blonde to the wrists of my arms and before I became fully aware of what I was about to do, I took what little nails I had to scratch the healing wounds and possibly break skin.

Even though they were still red and somewhat raw, I liked the pain I inflicted on myself because very slowly, blood bunched up from the newly opened slashes spiraled about my skin. My nails continued to run across them. I didn’t even notice a nurse walk up behind me so I could stop before they said anything.

This would turn out to be yet another instance I’ve been caught doing this, but I couldn’t seem to keep my nails away from my wrists. This was why they cut my fingernails so short, but it didn’t work. _It never worked._

The nurse muttered my name in a disappointed tone, but I never tore my nails away from the skin on my left wrist. The entire area was covered in smeared blood. Somewhere inside my mind, I was told to continue even when the nurse grabbed me by the arm to pull me off the balcony and into my room. We walked by the blonde sitting outside his room. Jesus, he was so attractive. I smiled his way as I was pulled past him, I didn’t get the chance to see if he smiled back. I was suddenly shoved into my quarters, with both my arms now behind my back and something told me that this was _wrong_.

So I struggled against the nurse. The one who didn’t have a name because I was too lazy to look at his nametag, so to me he was just The Nurse -- as generic as the rest of them. And as I struggled, they pushed more restraints against me, like how they pushed my face first onto my bed that smelled of my sweat and dirty linen, and they called for the other generic nurses to help put me down.

This part was the worse, I’ve had this happen so many times, I’m surprised I haven’t been put off into a separate section of the ward. I guess this hospital was too humane for that. _Or, that’s what I heard._

There was a needle in the hand of Generic Nurse #2. He had brown hair that reminded me of another patient on the floor. Maybe that was him in disguise, because I _swear_ , I’ve never seen this nurse before. He took the needle and jammed it into one of my arms that was being pulled behind my back. I still had the urge to scratch my cuts. That activity gave me so much relief. Like if I were an addict, that’d be my drug of choice. To reopen the slits on my wrists.

_Maybe I was insane after all…_

No. I pushed that comment to the furthest section of my brain. I wasn’t insane. I wasn’t like Wendy who had two souls within her, and I wasn’t like the boy who was mute and liked to twitch a lot. I was sane. I was totally sane.

That turned out to be my last waking thought, as I slipped off into unconsciousness because whatever Generic Nurse #2, jammed into my skin made me do so. I think I cursed loudly while I was doing so. I probably did… I had a tendency of it.


End file.
